


Just Because Spock Says It Doesn't Make It True

by LittleMousling



Series: HBIC [2]
Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Banter, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling
Summary: Tommy's decided to teach Lovett the joy of anticipation. Lovett is not particularly thankful.





	Just Because Spock Says It Doesn't Make It True

**Author's Note:**

> [Insert fourth-wall speech here] Thanks, guys! Appreciate the care and thoughtfulness!
> 
> Wrote this in an evening, so I can't vouch for it as being brilliant, but I can vouch for it as being funny and having some solid porn.

“The thing is, you’re not very good at delayed gratification.”

“I was in a long-distance relationship for seven years. I’m _great_ at delayed gratification.”

Tommy gives him a look. “Oh,” Jon amends. “We’re doing a thing. Got it. On board. Keep going.” 

“I’ve decided to teach you to appreciate the pleasures of anticipation,” Tommy says. It sounds rehearsed. Jon is not complaining. He likes when Tommy does all the prep work and all Jon has to do is relax and go with it. It’s not unlike their podcast dynamic, actually. 

He’s pretty good at playing a role as soon as it’s presented to him. “Oh, no,” he says. “Don’t make me wait! I can’t handle it!”

Tommy rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. Jon likes to inspire that combination of reactions as often as he can. “That’s not up to you, though, is it? It’s up to me.” 

Oh, yes. Jon likes this already. “How dare you,” he says. “I’ll do what I like! I’m a, a scoundrel! Can’t be controlled by the man!” He’s maybe mixing his metaphors, but it’s easy to get carried away when Tommy’s looking at him like that, hungry and focused. 

“We’ll see,” Tommy says, and then ... leaves the room. Okay. Jon was officially not expecting that. He’s relieved when Tommy comes back in, hands hidden behind his back. 

Jon is officially on board now. Secret toys are right up his alley. “No, no, I’m not letting you teach me anything, you villain,” he says, and darts for the door. He doesn’t, admittedly, dart very effectively. It tends to hurt his darting game that he entirely wants to be caught. 

Tommy catches him around the waist and topples them to the rug. That interrupts their flow, because Pundit, of course, has to come over and investigate. Jon loves the way Tommy’s whole voice changes between the role he’s playing and the way he is with Pundit. “Not right now, sweetheart. Go lie down. Go on. Go to your bed. That’s a girl. Such a good puppy,” transitions smoothly into a harsher, “You can’t get away from me.”

“You can’t hold me forever!” Jon says. He’s going full Meryl on this one. “The moment you show weakness, I shall escape your torment!”

“I thought you might say that,” Tommy says, and pulls something out from under them, the secret toy he’d dropped to grab Jon. It’s padded leather cuffs and a metal chain. 

Well. He’s no Meryl, anyway. “Fuck, okay,” he says, and Tommy snorts.

“Never seen you go so easy for anything,” he says. “Can't believe I haven't tied you up in months. Should've been doing it more.”

“Frankly, yes,” Jon says. “Embarrassing oversight on your part.” 

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “You sure you want to be mean to me right now? I can put them away just as easy as getting them out, you know.” 

That is not actually a dead easy decision for Jon. Dropping a good, bratty bit right in the middle is hard to do. “Fine,” he says, grudgingly. “I’ll behave.”

“I doubt that,” Tommy says, grinning, “but come upstairs and let’s give it a try, anyway.” 

Jon’s not going to pretend he’s not very, very into this. He darts up the stairs ahead of Tommy and is getting his socks off—everything else is already on the floor—by the time Tommy makes it into the bedroom. “Hi,” Jon says, cheerfully. He feels exceptionally cheerful. 

“Uh, hi,” Tommy says. “Excited, are we?”

“Not at all,” Jon assures him. “I’m feeling no anticipation whatsoever. You may want to get on that.” 

Tommy smirks. “You sure you want to fuck with me right now? I’m about to have you at my mercy.”

Jon likes the sound of that. “Any time now,” he says. “You can go ahead and get on with it.”

Tommy pauses, still near the doorway. “Do I have to back up and make you wait for the cuffs so I can make you wait for other things? Because this is getting confusing.” 

“It doesn’t need to be,” Jon says. He shuffles back onto the bed and arranges his arms artfully above his head. “You can just get on with whatever it is you had planned. Say, now-ish.”

“You are the most exasperating—” Tommy shakes his head, but he’s coming closer and he’s still holding the cuffs, so Jon can deal with whatever complicated feelings Tommy may be having right now. He tilts his wrists out and bats his eyelashes. “Jesus, Jon.”

“I’m just trying to behave myself like you _say_ you want,” Jon says. He’s pretty sure it sounds innocent as hell. Well, it would sound innocent to a less suspicious mind than Tommy’s, anyway. 

Tommy groans, but climbs up onto the bed and starts—thank fuck—wrapping the first cuff around Jon’s wrist. “You’re a monster, do you know that? You’re just—” He undercuts his own point by leaning down to kiss Jon, but Jon doesn’t call him out on it. Everyone has their rhetorical weaknesses. Tommy doesn’t have Jon’s background in speech and debate. 

The kissing distracts from the cuffing, but Jon’s not really going to complain. Tommy’s mouth is a revelation, every time. It promises such wonderful things to come. “Monster,” Tommy mumbles again. 

“Monster’s still loose,” Jon reminds him, and taps the heel of his un-cuffed hand on Tommy’s head. “You could fix that.”

Tommy tucks his face into Jon’s neck and huffs a laugh. “You know, there was this time—incredibly—there was this time when I thought that the whole concept of submission meant you’d, you know, shut up and listen to me and do what I say, instead of the other way around.”

“Yeah, it’s good you learned the truth,” Jon says, grinning. “Are you going to bite me while you’re down there or just enjoy the view?”

Tommy throws back his head, faux-exasperated. Almost definitely faux. “I should have bought a gag.”

“Well, that’s a choice you made,” Jon says, and Tommy stuffs a couple of fingers into his mouth. Jon can roll with that. He takes his time rolling his tongue around them, sucking on them, distracting Tommy as much as he can. He doesn’t want to throw Tommy off purpose—finish with the damn cuffs!—but he’s not going to say no to a chance to show off for Tommy, either. He walks a complicated path. 

Tommy pulls his fingers free after a long minute of just watching Jon’s mouth, and goes back to the cuffs. _Finally._ “Menace,” he says. Jon decides to let that one go, since Tommy’s so nicely binding his wrists up and chaining them to the slats of the headboard. Jon pulls against them. 

“Have I told you lately how much I love this headboard? Great investment. Beautiful life choices. You should be proud of yourself.” 

“Should have bought a gag,” Tommy mutters, and kisses him silent before he climbs off the bed to strip. 

Jon enjoys the show. Jon always enjoys this particular show, even when it’s done much faster than his ideal striptease speed. “Take it all off!” he says, just for the look of the thing. Sound of the thing. For the thing. 

Tommy does, in fact, take it all off, because boyfriends are better than strippers. He climbs back up over Jon. “What do you want?” he asks, mouth on Jon’s jaw, and his earlobe, and his neck, and—

“Fucking—ride me,” Jon groans, and only then catches on that this is a trick fucking question. 

Tommy’s rising up, grinning. “I might,” he says. “I guess we’ll see.” He runs a finger down Jon’s chest, stopping before even his navel, and Jon yanks fruitlessly at the cuffs. He can’t even rattle the headboard. This has all been a terrible error in judgment. Admittedly, a really fucking hot error in judgment, but still. 

“Look, I get it now,” Jon tries. “Anticipation is incredibly hot. And great. I should appreciate it more. You can touch me now. You don’t even have to ride me! Just touch my dick. Tommy. Tommy, I will suck you off so good. _So_ good, Tommy.” 

“Mm-hm,” Tommy says, ignoring him. Ignoring him! This is a nightmare. Except that Tommy’s hand is tracing down to Jon’s cock now, which, okay, wow, Jon really thought he’d hold out longer. This is great. This is exceptionally great. Tommy’s wrapped a hand around him, dry but still pretty terrific, and he’s stroking him, and he’s—stopping. Just _stopping._

Just stopping! “Tommy,” Jon says. “Uh, don’t know if you noticed, but you sort of lost the thread there. Might want to get back to it? There’s, you know, we have several varieties of excellent lube, I can make a suggestion if you’re torn between them, I can be your, your lube sommelier, if you could just return your hand to its upright and locked position on my dick.”

Tommy laughs, because Tommy always laughs when Jon’s being funny, but he doesn’t put his hand back. Tommy can keep his stupid laugh. Although it was very deserved, that was a very funny set of comments, so actually, Jon will keep Tommy’s stupid laugh, and Tommy can focus on more important things, like _getting his hand back on Jon’s dick._

“What did I say about anticipation?” Tommy asks, idly running his fingertips over Jon’s stomach, and his chest. “See, you like it.”

“That is a very bold interpretation of the primary source material,” Jon tells him. “Your dissertation defense is going to be a mess.” 

Tommy skates his fingers down and over Jon’s thighs, his hips, close but not where Jon wants them. “I think I’ll be okay,” he says. He’s shifting off to one side, freeing up places where they’d been touching so his fingers can go there instead: Jon’s inner thigh, for instance, which feels lit up with sensation just from Tommy’s calloused fingertips dancing over it. Fuck, that’s good. He has to admit that’s good. Not out loud, of course.

“I feel nothing,” Jon says, through gritted teeth. “Nothing you’re doing is affecting me in the slightest.”

“Mm-hm,” Tommy says, and kisses the hollow of Jon’s throat. He pulls one of Jon’s knees up and traces his fingers down the back of Jon’s thigh to the crease of his ass, where he tickles and teases and—

“Fuck, fuck, you have to fucking touch me,” Jon babbles, and doesn’t even care. He needs Tommy to _fucking touch him_ , this is too fucking much. His wrists feel so cradled in the cuffs and he yanks against them fruitlessly, just to feel how bound he is. Fuck, Tommy knows how to get his motor revving. 

“Okay,” he says, meaning it this time. “You’ve proved your point! I am exceptionally, ah, exceptionally aroused, you can, you can just give it to me now, I get it, I accept your premise.”

“That’s not really how this works,” Tommy says, mildly. “You may recall that this is the part where I actually get to be in charge instead of you being in charge and pretending otherwise.”

Jon does recall that. It’s the best/worst part. Mostly best, but he doesn’t admit to that as a rule. He bites his lip, and then his tongue, and then his cheek. “Okay,” he says, weaker. Okay, it’s possible he is not going to be able to make Tommy do anything Tommy doesn’t want to do. Okay, that might be … even better. Okay. 

“Good boy,” Tommy breathes. Tommy only started saying that—what, a month ago?—but he picked up on Jon’s uncontrolled reaction to it right away, and now it’s half the words out of Tommy’s mouth. Jon thought, at first, he’d ruin it with overuse; it turns out that’s not actually possible. It’s just completely and overwhelmingly hot, every time. 

Jon sucks a breath in through his nose, and tries to be good. He wants something to do—he wants Tommy to kiss him, or fuck his mouth, or give him a good opener for a joke, but he has a suspicion Tommy’s not going to make it easy on him like that. 

Tommy gets out some lube. Ten minutes ago, that would have seemed very promising; now it feels dangerous, like Tommy’s about to raise the stakes. “You have pretty good tells,” Tommy says, conversationally. “I don’t know if you realize. I don’t think you do, or you’d control them more. But I can tell when you get close.” His hand, wet, closes on Jon’s cock, and Jon tilts his head back and groans. 

“So when I see you getting close,” Tommy continues, stroking him harder, faster, better, so fucking much better, “I can just—”

Tommy’s hand disappears. Jon hears himself making a high-pitched whining noise, and doesn’t try to stop it. He feels very much like that noise sounds. It’s appropriate to the situation. “Tommy, this is—cruelty to animals,” he says, not as coherent as he means to be. He can’t be coherent when all his blood has left his brain. “Cruelty to podcasters. Tommy.”

“I think you’re okay,” Tommy says. “You weren’t even very close that time.”

That. Time.

“Tommy,” Jon says. “I will replace all your shampoo with honey and, and put a bear in your closet.” It’s not his best threat, admittedly. He thinks it gets the point across, though.

Tommy laughs, and bites the thin skin of Jon’s hip. It hurts just right—it’s almost as good as the hand on his dick. Better, in some ways. It will still feel amazing even after Tommy lets up, for one. Jon’s never tried to get off just from the ache of a bruise before but right now, he’s game to try. If Tommy won’t help him out, well, Jon’s prepared to help himself using whatever avenues are available to him. 

He tugs on the cuffs again. That’s fucking hot, especially now he’s pretty revved up. Who needs Tommy, really? He can probably get off like this. He can tense his stomach muscles and try to get his dick to hit his belly. 

“Hey, no, mine,” Tommy says, grabbing it, which—wow, okay, that’s hot coming and going, really. “I thought you were going to behave for me.”

Jon needs to breathe through all of that. Grabby, possessive Tommy is his favourite Tommy. And—okay, he had perhaps promised good behavior, but Tommy knows better than to listen to him. 

Tommy’s not stroking him, exactly, but he’s touching him like he’s been touching Jon’s thighs and his torso, fingertips too-light on his skin. It makes Jon want to writhe on the bed, and then have to, some straw dropped on the camel’s back of sensation that makes it impossible for him to stay still.

“There you are, babe,” Tommy says, slinging an arm over his hips to hold him down. “Feels good, right? Just keep feeling that.” His fingertips are still too soft, too little, too frustrating. Jon feels like he’s losing the ability to breathe, like Tommy’s touches are rolling up his lungs and forcing the air out. It’s too much. He yanks at the cuffs again, but that makes it worse, the sense of being at Tommy’s mercy at the forefront of his mind now. 

“Please,” he says, half-swallowing it, and then louder, “Tommy, please.”

“Not yet,” Tommy tells him, “but I like the begging.”

It’s not—it’s not begging, Jon isn’t begging. Or he is. He doesn’t care. He just needs more than this. He needs real fucking friction. He needs Tommy to touch him for real. “ _Tommy_ ,” Jon says, the frustration welling in his voice, in his throat, in the corners of his eyes. “Tommy. I need—please.” 

A fingernail, or something sharp, catches on the underside of his cock, too much and still too little all at once. Jon gasps, choking on the air as it passes through his throat. He can’t take this. He can’t remember when Tommy started—it can’t have been twenty minutes, but it feels like hours of torture, glorious fucking torture. 

“Wait here,” Tommy says suddenly, and disappears. Or—doesn’t, but Jon’s eyes are shut so tightly that he can’t be sure. Tommy isn’t touching him; that’s what matters. He can feel the throb of the bruise on his hip again, without Tommy’s fingers distracting him, but he’s too worn out to think about trying to get off on any of these light sensations. He wants Tommy back, any way he can have him. 

The bed moves; Tommy’s back. His skin brushes Jon’s calves, Jon’s thighs, Jon’s hips. “Okay,” Tommy says. “Don’t move, or I’ll sit up.” Jon doesn’t understand the command until he feels—ah, _fuck_ —Tommy’s hand on him, and Tommy’s body taking him in, slow slow slow, barely moving on him. “God, that’s good,” Tommy mutters. Jon could say the same, except his throat is so dry and desperate that he may never speak again. 

It’s almost a step down from how intense and frantic Jon felt before; it’s familiar, not like fingertips swirling around his dick. It’s Tommy, riding him, something he’s been lucky enough to almost get used to in the last few months. “Good—good,” Tommy says, his own breath catching. “That’s, yeah.”

Jon gets his feet planted so he can thrust, just a little, the way Tommy likes, but Tommy reaches back to knock his knees flat. “Nuh-uh,” Tommy chides him. “You just—take it.” 

_Fuck_ , yes. Jon can do that, if that’s what Tommy wants from him. He peels his eyelids open so he can watch Tommy moving over him, hand braced on Jon’s chest. He’s watching Jon, eyes skating across his body, and Jon’s breath catches, watching him back. 

Jon’s getting close; Tommy’s ass is tight and hot and his teasing was appallingly good and his approving gaze is everything Jon wants. Jon’s hips shift, although he isn’t braced right to thrust, thanks to Tommy. Still, just rolling his hips feels good, feels amazing, feels—

Tommy sits up off of him. Jon could fucking cry. 

“Not yet,” Tommy says, although his own voice is weak, and Jon can feel his hands shaking where they’re laid on Jon’s chest. “Not until I let you.”

Jon’s whole body feels like Tommy’s hands. He clenches his fists and releases them, grabs the slats of the headboard to brace himself better. “Okay,” he says, because there’s nothing much else to say. Tommy’s got his number but good. 

“Good boy,” Tommy says, and kisses him. “Such a—god, you’re—” Interrupting himself with kisses, the way Tommy always does when he’s close. They both need it, and Tommy’s keeping them both back, and Jon would be impressed with his self-control if it weren’t so goddamn torturous at this moment. 

Jon’s not incapable of learning, though, and he’s certain that if he can keep from goading Tommy, Tommy will be back on his dick in short order. Which he can definitely, maybe do. Possibly do. 

He holds himself off long enough, at least; Tommy’s grabbing him again to line him up, and—ah, fuck—sinking back down, one slow stroke this time. “Feel so good,” Jon says, and he’s never meant anything like he means that. “Tommy, you’re so fucking amazing.” He feels almost drunk, saying things he wouldn’t usually say even on a pre-orgasm high, but Tommy’s smiling down at him, soft and happy, and Jon supposes he wouldn’t take that back, given the choice. 

He has to shut his eyes as Tommy gets a rhythm going again. It’s too much, if Tommy’s going to pull off him again; he needs to keep himself in check. It’s too fucking hot, though, every inch of him focused on the way Tommy feels on his cock, on the way Tommy’s making soft noises in his throat from how Jon’s cock must feel in him. Making Tommy feel good, and fucked out, is almost hotter than the rest of it. 

“Please,” he murmurs, despite himself. “Please, I—I’m in your hands, Tommy, but please.” 

Tommy grunts, fingers tightening and scratching at Jon’s chest. “God, Jon. Yeah. Yeah, you can—you can come, you’ve been so good.”

Jon wouldn’t have said he was that close. He would have been fucking wrong. Tommy’s words light a fire down his spine, and he rocks his hips up as hard as he can and comes, arms clenched against the cuffs, Tommy’s nails burning into his skin. 

He sags back, completely spent. That was—wow. “Holy shit,” he mumbles. “I get it now.” 

Tommy’s not listening, though. He’s shifted his weight so he can fist himself, going at hyperspeed, ass tightening down on Jon’s sensitive cock. “Ow,” Jon says, but not loud enough to stop Tommy, because this is really, really hot and he’s going to keep this image in his head for a long time to come. He can handle some discomfort. 

“So—good,” Tommy mutters, and strokes himself faster, and when he comes it’s all over Jon’s belly and his chest, warm and wet. 

There’s a long, quiet pause, Tommy collapsed in an arch over Jon’s chest before he finds the strength to lift himself off of Jon’s cock and lie down on top of him. “Heavy,” Jon says, but it’s not a complaint. It’s … nice. 

He’s still tied up, but he assumes Tommy will remember that sooner or later. 

“Totally learned my lesson,” Jon tells him, pressing the words like kisses into the crown of Tommy’s head. “I’ll never question Mr. Spock again.”

Tommy’s head tilts, chin resting on Jon’s chest so he can look up at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Mr. Spock,” Jon says, and then, “Do you actually not know—”

“I’ve never watched it,” Tommy says. 

Jon’s jaw drops. “You’ve never—Tommy Frederick Vietor. Wow. We need to do that immediately. Like, you need to untie me right now and I am putting on some DVDs, because I am not willing to be in a relationship with anyone who hasn’t seen The Trouble With Tribbles. Or the other ones, but that one especially.”

“Okay,” Tommy says, making no move to unhook Jon. “Sounds good.”

Jon supposes he can wait a few more minutes. Tommy’s warm and heavy and Jon’s eyelids are drooping. Maybe a quick nap, then Star Trek. “Anticipation,” he says, half a yawn. “That was the—he talks about anticipation.”

“Mm,” Tommy says. He doesn’t sound any more awake than Jon does. “Good man.”

“Yeah,” Jon says. He wants to ruffle Tommy’s hair. He’ll do it later. He’s busy falling asleep just now.


End file.
